


Let Them Eat Pancakes.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Permets-Tu [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern, D/s, Dirty Talk, Dominant!Enjolras, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Morning After, Pancakes, Submissive!Grantaire, The Delicious Pancakes Of Kink Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm merely being considerate of your needs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Them Eat Pancakes.

Grantaire wakes up more cheerful than he's ever woken up in his life. He's going to blame the man sleeping next to him and _hogging the blankets and trying to take up the entire bed, for shame, Enjolras_ , and Grantaire is going to tease him mercilessly for that. He's already imagining taking a Sharpie to Enjolras's chest and informing him that the 99% deserve more than 1% of the bed.

Grantaire's whistling as he heads into the bathroom to piss, and gets caught by his reflection. His neck is covered and, looking down, it seems he got attacked by a very, uh, affectionate jellyfish. Piranha? No, jellyfish. Yeah, he'll go with that one.

He presses his thumb against one of the hickeys and grins at his reflection. He could probably stand to be less smug, but, on second thought, no. No, he can't. He is possibly not smug _enough_.

Because he tripped and fell onto Enjolras's cock, okay, Enjolras arranged for Grantaire to trip and fall onto Enjolras's cock and then have to decide what to do about it, because Enjolras is apparently somehow pro-actively passive-aggressive in his seduction attempts, or _whatever_ , Grantaire really doesn't care. The ends are important, not the means, and, wow, can he never let Enjolras catch him thinking that. Things will explode. Possibly Grantaire. It will not be pretty. It will actually be horrifying. That cannot be allowed to happen.

But anyway, the means totally justified the end, Grantaire doesn't care, and Grantaire's waking up with a really hot guy in his bed (last night in short: "I can sleep on the couch." "Do not be stupid."), and waking up to that guy's marks _all over him_. It's a good morning. It's a very good morning.

He's making pancakes.

Now, some people in this world think they can make pancakes. They are sadly, sadly, sadly mistaken. They are just making things that happen to look like pancakes. Pancake-shaped objects. Flour failure. Waste of water. Just really horrible, sad, horrible things.

And some people, some people maybe can make pancakes. Maybe. But no one makes pancakes like Grantaire does. Because when Grantaire makes pancakes, the angels on high weep, and the devils down below bleed. Grantaire may be a complete failure at, well, just about everything, but pancakes, he can do. They're his thing. Some people (Enjolras) are basically perfections sent to earth to rub it into everyone's faces that they're not good enough. Grantaire is not like that. Grantaire's not ever going to be like that. The fault was in his stars, or in his selves, or whatever.

But he can make pancakes. It's basically his only salable skill. (In theory, being an art major might turn into a salable skill. Enjolras thinks it will. And see above: Enjolras being perfect. Although he may also be _perfectly deluded_ , the jury's still out on that one.)

(He's also perfectly biased, but Grantaire is going to hug that to his chest and never let it go, Enjolras thinks he's perfect, Enjolras thinks he's perfect, Enjolras thinks he's perfect. Grantaire will possibly never stop smiling.)

So, yeah. He's making pancakes. Because he had sex with Enjolras yesterday and Enjolras is still here this morning. And, also, he promised. So, pancakes.

He rubs his hands together. This is going to be wonderful. And delicious. And total bribery to get Enjolras to spend more nights selfishly taking up all of the bed. Because Grantaire finds the idea of Enjolras being selfish really hot, okay? Just waltzing into his life and taking control of everything and claiming the blankets and all the space on the bed and _Grantaire_ and... he has to stop thinking like this if he's going to be actually making breakfast and not just pouncing Enjolras and sucking him off.

So, right. Grantaire splashes cold water on his face and then grabs a t-shirt and heads into the kitchen. It is Operation: Pancakes time.

Operation: Pancakes means making pancakes from scratch, because Grantaire has standards. Not very good standards, he'll admit. But in some things, he is happy to be a snob. In this case, that means he's a pancake snob. He'll take it.

There's no recipe, because recipes are tools of the elite to oppress the masses, or whatever, look, Grantaire's a free-spirit when he can remember that he is. He won't fit into your box, he won't take your labels, and he cooks by feel and eying things, because he cannot be contained by your bourgeois ideas of _consistency_. His pancakes are always awesome. They are also never exactly the same twice. It's part of his art. Grantaire is very artistic.

Whatever. The ends justify the means, and the ends are delicious, so the means do not matter.

Enjolras wakes up when Grantaire is just about to finish the first batch and Grantaire hears the water run as he starts the second batch.

"Good morning," Enjolras says when he walks into the kitchen. He's wearing his jeans from last night and one of Grantaire's shirts and his hair is a total mess. Grantaire grins giddily. So this is what Enjolras looks like in the morning-after. Grantaire approves highly. "I see there are pancakes."

"As promised," Grantaire says. "There's coffee, too, if you make it."

And then Enjolras kisses him hello and reaches above him for the mugs and Grantaire all but melts into a little puddle of happiness because Enjolras in the morning-after is in his kitchen, making coffee and kissing him. Grantaire does not dance in place.

Too much.

Enjolras gets some plates, too, and sets the table with proper cutlery and napkins and syrup and everything. He makes coffee and Grantaire finishes the second batch of pancakes, then sets them all down on the table. Grantaire sits down and gets himself set up with pancakes and the proper amount of syrup (a lot).

"Hi," Grantaire says. "You look very satisfied with yourself this morning."

"You make very good pancakes," Enjolras says, and takes a bite out of one.

"Yes, yes, they're fit for a democratically-elected-representative-of-the-people-because-we-don't-say-the-K-word-before-noon," Grantaire says. "Is this the part where we talk about our feelings? You're going to be horrified. I am desperately in love with you. All of our friends are aware of this. I would actually worship the ground you walk on, given the chance." He pauses long enough to wash the pancake down with coffee. "Oh, and I'm depressed, frequently drunk, have terrible self-esteem, and my therapist despairs of me. All of which, oh, yeah, you _already also know_ , because, hey, have you noticed some of us have a terrible habit of living in each other's back pockets? I think our friends collectively know more about me than I do."

Enjolras looks bemused.

"As for what I want from a relationship," Grantaire continues, "that would also be a stupid and useless question, because, also very obvious: I want everything you'll give me. And I'm self-aware enough to know that may not be exactly or completely healthy, but I also don't care. And before you start, yes, I'm familiar with this new-fangled invention called consent and all of that, I am perfectly able to say no to things I don't want, and don't you dare deny me agency. I have a ton of agency. I'm in love with you, Enjolras, in lust with you, I want to do everything. But I still don't _agree_ with you. But I love your opinions, I love that you care, I love that you want to fix the world and think that you can, because I want you to be able to. I want to be wrong, I want you, and the world, to prove it to me. Because I believe in you, but not in the world. But maybe you can show me. Maybe you can prove me wrong. And I love you because you try, you're trying to save me, too, along with the world. One sparrow isn't too small for the great Enjolras to ignore. So, yeah," he finishes badly and covers it up with a hasty sip of coffee and belatedly tries to make it look like he hasn't been building that speech since probably the day after he met Enjolras. It's a doomed attempt, but that's no reason not to give it the old college try. "That's my feelings. Because it's not like this wasn't naval-gazing enough."

"I was actually going to start slower," Enjolras says. He's smiling, though. That's good. Smiling is very good. Grantaire finishes his first pancake in relieved glee. "Like, good morning, Grantaire, you look very nice, did you sleep well? But jumping right into naval-gazing is fine, too."

"I got molested by an octopus in my sleep," Grantaire says, pointing his fork at Enjolras. "Did anyone ever tell you that you are very inconsiderate bed-partner?" Enjolras looks stricken and Grantaire says quickly, "I mean, you just took up all the blankets and tried to shove me off the bed in your sleep, it wasn't--"

Enjolras grimaces. "Sorry. I've never actually, uh, done that before. I didn't know that would happen."

"It's really not a problem," Grantaire says. "Like, at all. And don't you dare suggest you sleep on the couch, that is not on offer. If I'm dating you, then we are sleeping together, I am not banishing you to the couch just because you're not used to sharing a bed, because, seriously, Enjolras, how are you going to get used to it if I don't let you practice? We should totally practice. We should practice all the time."

"You're the one who turned down sleeping with me all the time," Enjolras points out. "Would you like to revisit that?"

"You offered to have us move in together," Grantaire says. "Not even a first date -- last night does not count, shut up -- and you want us to move in together. Life doesn't work like that, Enjolras. Here in the real world, if you do something like that, your relationship is doomed. Doomed. Highly doomed. Very highly doomed."

"You're the one who apparently only jerks off after midnight," Enjolras says, like he's speaking sense. What must it be like to live in Enjolras's head? Scary, Grantaire decides. Intensely scary, and also very hot. Intensely hot. Flying too close to the sun kind of hot. "I'm merely being considerate of your needs."

Grantaire blushes, which is just stupid. He had his hands down Enjolras's pants last night, he sucked him off, getting embarrassed is just stupid.

"Would you like to revisit that as well?" Enjolras asks delicately, spearing more of the pancakes. Damn him for being so calm, and cool, and collected, which, okay, is a bit like damning him for being himself, which is even more stupid.

"I, no," Grantaire says. "I'm honestly, somewhat surprisingly?, okay with never jerking off without you metaphorically holding my dick for me, and actually holding it if that can be arranged, which, um, I still don't think you've thought through all the way, but I'm okay with trying it. So long as you're okay with me calling you at weird times, and if I can't get through to you, leaving you messages. I mean, if you really want to be aware of my masturbatory habits, that's weirdly hot, I can't even explain why, but it is. But if you want to be aware of them, I am totally on board with over-sharing. The problem is going to be getting me to stop telling you about me jerking off, not starting. I hope you're okay with that."

Enjolras licks his lips. "Yes."

"You are such a control freak," Grantaire says, "which, and I can't say this enough, I completely approve of. I am totally on board with being controlled, except, you know, I'm going to fuck up. You have to know that. I mean, you already have ample evidence of that, but it's not like I'm suddenly more reliable once it's about sex."

"It's just sex," Enjolras says. "It's supposed to be fun. If you mess up, that's fine. I won't say I don't care, because I do care, but it's a different kind of caring. I'm not setting you up to fail. If you can't handle something, then we won't do it, and if we try something and you mess it up a few times, it really is just sex, Grantaire. I take you very seriously. I take fucking you much less so. If it isn't fun and enjoyable for both of us, I have no interest in doing it. If you won't enjoy it, then we won't do it."

"So, wait, I'm not going to get punished?" Grantaire asks, offended. "Enjolras, I'm sorry, but what the hell? You don't think I'm good enough to punish me? You're already making allowances for me failing you and you just, what, ignoring it? I told you I won't jerk off without you or telling you about it later, and so what if I don't? You're just going to brush it off, like Grantaire's such a fuck-up that he can't even be trusted to do what he says he will? And what about other stuff, because I know, I know you have a list. You are much too intense to actually _not care_ if I fuck up, when I fuck up, so what the fuck, Enjolras? I'm not good enough to get punished for failing you?"

Enjolras is running his finger around the edge of his coffee mug, looking calmly at Grantaire. "You want to be punished?" he asks.

"Yes!" Grantaire says and he crosses his arms. "I'm sorry, Enjolras, but if you don't think highly enough of me to actually back this stuff up with--"

"Fine," Enjolras says. "I did consider this, but decided against it, but if you're sure."

"Damn right I'm sure," Grantaire says. "If I do something wrong, I should be punished. I'll be disappointed if I don't get it, because what the fuck. It's not rocket science, it's obvious. Do something wrong, get punished. QED."

"If you want," Enjolras stresses, "to have punishment be a part of our relationship, it can happen. It won't be because you mess up, though, or you get something wrong by accident, or maybe I asked too much of you, or maybe you just couldn't, even though you tried. That's not something to be punished, that's something to be learned from. To be celebrated, that we've learned more about us, more about how we work together. A real punishment would be for you deliberately crossing lines, you deliberately trying to provoke me into doing something I wouldn't do, or ever let you do to yourself. And it would have to be in context, I'm not talking about," he waves his hand, "in general. There would be strict boundaries on it all. In the bedroom, in the moment, you doing something horrible. And, yeah, if you want, I can punish you for it. But you won't like it."

"I think I can judge for myself what I'd like," Grantaire says. "Stop being dramatic and just tell me what you're going to do."

Enjolras stares at him. "Chastity. If you consent. I'll still talk to you, I won't ignore you, everything will be normal. But no sex. Nothing sexual of any sort, period. If you try, I'll ignore it. I won't touch you. And you'll still be under my control, including orgasm control, so you won't be touching yourself either. How long will be a sliding scale depending on the infraction and I'll be the sole arbiter of how long it's going to last. I'll tell you when the punishment begins and after that, I'll expect your obedience. Is that acceptable?"

"Fine, Lysistrata," Grantaire says. "I can handle going without sex."

"Good," Enjolras says. "And, remember, you can always stop it at any time if it gets too much for you, if it starts bleeding into other things. I'm not out to hurt you, you know that. If it's fucking with your head, tell me, and we'll stop. I really don't want to hurt you."

"Just teach me a lesson, yeah, I get it," Grantaire says. He's shivering a little, he realizes, and tells himself firmly to stop. Yeah, he doesn't like the idea of Enjolras withholding sex, but so what? What's the big deal? He can go without sex and he can go without jerking off. 

But that's not going to be the hard and horrible part. The hard and horrible part is going to be walking around knowing he's failed Enjolras, that he wasn't good enough and Enjolras is punishing him for it. And until Enjolras is done punishing him, he'll just be wallowing in that feeling, knowing there's nothing he can do to make up for it, knowing he's just going to suffer until Enjolras has decided he's suffered enough, that he's done his penance and that he's decided to forgive Grantaire for disappointing him.

That part is going to be horrible.

That part is going to be really horrible.

Enjolras is staring at his face, he belatedly realizes. Grantaire tries to smile, but Enjolras shakes his head. "No, forget it. I see it crosses your limits. We won't do that. No punishment. If you fuck up, we'll talk it over and see how we can avoid it in the future, or work around things. But we won't do that."

Grantaire can't figure out what he's feeling. Like he's disappointed Enjolras, but also that he's really really relieved that Enjolras won't ask that of him. And disappointed in himself for not being able to give that to Enjolras. And annoyed at himself, because he just demanded Enjolras punish him, and now he's okay with backing out because he can't handle it? That's not okay. That's not okay at all.

"And on that note," Enjolras says. "If I ever do anything you don't like, or don't want, or don't want _right now_ but might want in the future, say stop, call a time out, and we'll stop. _At any time_ , even if I have my entire hand inside you, you call a time out and we take a time out. Whatever you need. To take another breath, to tell me to back the hell off, to tell me to try something else, or just if you'd rather not right now and let's do something else instead. There's no judgment, it doesn't mean we fucked up. It just means we need to take a break and pause for a moment. Okay? But I need you to tell me. I can't read your mind."

Grantaire nods, even though sometimes he isn't entirely sure Enjolras can't read his mind.

"Besides," Enjolras says. "Having punishment as a factor in our relationship implies a certain inequality. I don't have the right to punish you for displeasing me, that's not how this works."

Oh, fuck you. Fuck that and fuck you. "Enjolras, this is kinky sex. There are probably millions of people out there who would love to tell you how wrong you are," Grantaire says. "Want me to tweet it and find out?"

Enjolras looks frustrated. "This. Between you and me. I'm not interested in a relationship predicated on the assumption that I'm somehow better than you, or that I have rights over you that you don't have over me. That's not something I'm interested in. I want equal give-and-take."

"And, what," Grantaire says, "if I were okay with you punishing me, if I demanded that of you, you'd do it even though you hated it? Even though that's not what you want in our relationship?"

"You're the one who made it an ultimatum, Jesus fucking Christ!" Enjolras takes a deep breath and exhales and Grantaire watches as Enjolras slowly relaxes. It's not fair, usually getting Enjolras to explode is much more satisfying. This isn't satisfying at all. "I believe in, what I want from our relationship, what I want from you, is that I want to completely separate actual punishment with things you want to have happen. If I spank you, I want you to enjoy it. Fuck, I want to enjoy it. I won't enjoy punishing you, and wouldn't want to. That isn't what it should be about. And if neither of us wants it, why go through the farce of punishing you in the first place? I really don't want to do that to you, I'd feel sick doing it, but if you wanted it, I'd try, because it's not like I should be enjoying it in the first place, so it won't matter that I don't. But I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do."

"Well, I don't want you doing anything you don't want to do, either," Grantaire says. "I mean, what the fuck, Enjolras. You shouldn't do something you hate just because I pushed you to do it. I don't want you doing something you find reprehensible, the fuck."

"And I don't want that, either," Enjolras says. "I don't want you doing anything just because you'll do anything for me, because you'd worship the ground I walk on, any of that. I don't want you saying yes when you really don't want to, because you think you have to, or because I want to. You don't have to agree to anything you don't want to, you don't have to try anything because you think I'll leave you if you won't."

"I'm not going to," Grantaire says. "Also, you're aware of your raging hypocritical double standard, right?"

Enjolras smiles at him, but keeps going, like if he stops he'll never start again. "Because I'm in this, too, all right? I love you, too, I want you, too. I want to date you, to discover all of the parts of you I haven't met before, to learn what you're like when no one else is around. I want to wake up next to you every morning, I want to lose myself in loving you, because I think I could, and that's scary and terrifying and tempting and I want to try it. I want to see if we work as well together as I think we could, I want to find the ways we rub off against each other, I want to see sparks fly. I want to blunt myself on your sharp edges, which I know makes no sense, but it's all I can think of when you're hitting me with your brain, when you're ripping me to pieces, all I want to do is wrap you in my arms and say, yes, Grantaire, yes to everything, even though you're wrong about everything, because of the way you say it, the way you believe everything for a moment and then can drop it and laugh, because I can't turn off, I don't know how, but you can argue every opinion under the sun like it's your own, and you have no idea how hot that is, how impressive, and how utterly aggravating. I want to kiss you every time you make me want to scream, and I want to kiss you every time you tear me to shreds, because I need that, I need to be picked apart, you make me stronger for knowing you, and I want to see how much stronger we can be together, how much stronger you can make me by letting me love you."

"Oh," Grantaire says inadequately.

"So, yeah, we really do need to talk about this, you're right, and I'm sorry," Enjolras says. "And, as I said, call me on my bullshit. We need to never stop talking about this. The things you like, the things you don't like, your kinks, your limits, what you want to try, what you don't want to try. What you want from me, what kinds of things you're looking for. Everything. Because if you expect me to read your mind and don't use your words, we're going to fall apart by the end of the week, and if you expect me to set the pace and demand things of you and inform you of how everything's going to be, _I'm_ going to fall apart by the end of week."

"Enjolras," Grantaire says carefully, "getting me to start talking is never the problem. But, look, you're a control freak and I love that about you. I am totally happy being in the passenger's side and letting you drive."

"There's a difference between our relationship and our sex life," Enjolras says. "I'm perfectly happy to boss you around in the bedroom, believe me, but that's not sustainable out of it. You call me on my shit all the time, so don't you dare stop just because I put you on your knees and you like it."

"I don't think there's any danger of me stopping," Grantaire says. "But, um, look, the hecklers in the back don't have to put up or shut up. The guys on stage do. I'm fundamentally a heckler and you're always going to be that guy on stage, the one in the front who has to deal with me shouting obscenities and blasphemies and making bad jokes. I mean, if you can take that as criticism and do what you, okay, what you always do, I'm slowly realizing... okay, so what you're basically asking me is to not keep my mouth shut, is that it? Not get cowed and think I have to keep quiet if I want to keep dating you? Basically just keep being me, really annoying and not at all endearing me?"

"I think you're endearing," Enjolras says, "and yes. I want your submission, not your silence. The last thing I want is for you to decide that it's a choice between speaking what you're thinking and being in a relationship with me. They aren't in conflict with each other; they work in concert. I want your genius, the way it manifests in ways I can't even imagine, goes off to places I can only follow. I want you to lead me through your arguments, because you always bring more to the table than you think you do. You're not a heckler, Grantaire. Hecklers are just there to make noise. You contribute. You wrap yourself in a heckler's mantle because you think it gives you some kind of protection, like it shields you from having to be taken seriously, and if we don't take you seriously, maybe we won't notice how much you care, because you may not believe, but you still care. We know you do, and we value your contributions, no matter that the way you decide to make them is from the back, not from the front. That's your choice and we respect that, but never think it means we don't respect you. " 

"Oh," Grantaire repeats.

Enjolras reaches across the table and covers his hand with his. "Do you get it, Grantaire? Do you get what I'm asking from you? I don't want to punish you because I don't want what we have in the bedroom to destroy what we have out of it, I don't want to destroy our friendship just because the sex wasn't perfect. That shouldn't be what sex is about. It should be about us enjoying each other, not something that you flinch away from, but, my god, would demand from me anyway, don't you ever do that again, I'm happy to push your limits, but I'm not going to ride roughshod over them, I don't want you _flinching_. There's a difference between not being able to say no and not wanting to say no, of course there is, but I want you to always say no if you don't want something, not thinking you should suck it up because you think it's something you're supposed to do or that you want to make me happy."

Sometimes Enjolras is such a virgin, but Grantaire's okay with that. Also not a virgin anymore, unless Grantaire wants to start policing labels, which he doesn't. And he's going to bask happily in the knowledge that he's the reason Enjolras isn't a virgin anymore. "Enjolras, are you aware of the concept of wanting to do something nice for your boyfriend?"

"Of course I am," Enjolras says calmly, but grips his hand harder. Grantaire wants to tell him he's not about to go anywhere, but clinging is good. Clinging is very good. Clinging is only to be encouraged. "But that's not the point, okay? Why waste time doing things you don't like when we could be spending it doing things you do like?"

"I, um," Grantaire frowns. "I think that's missing the point. You might want to do things that I'm so-so on, but still willing to try them. What's wrong with experimentation?"

"Absolutely nothing," Enjolras says. "But there's a difference between that and you just going along with it. And that's my biggest fear, that you'll just let me drive and won't be the navigator. Because I need you there holding the map, telling me where to turn and which exits to take, and, Grantaire, this is a terrible metaphor, let's never use it again."

"I think these days the metaphor would be programming the GPS," Grantaire says. "But your point is valid. All right. As god is my witness," Grantaire intones, "I will heckle you during sex and tell you that you're doing everything wrong."

Enjolras grins at him. "Thank you. Because you always make my plans better. And there are so many things I want, Grantaire, so many things I want to try. If you'll let me."

"Right," Grantaire says. He smiles back at Enjolras. It's basically a Pavlovian response by this point, and there is _nothing wrong with that_. "You have lists."

"I really didn't want to fuck this up," Enjolras says. "Despite, well, appearances." He runs his fingers through his hair. "The last few minutes could have gone better."

"You didn't fuck anything up," Grantaire assures him. "And I can't decide if I want to see them or not. Because, on the one hand, you plotting out a plan of attack for seducing me, I cannot begin to tell you how hot that is. But on the other hand, I think I'd rather be surprised by your strategic genius. In bed."

"Well, you have time to decide," Enjolras says. "It's not like I brought them with me. That would be weird. I just have my notebook and you can flip through that if you want."

"What, you don't have them on your phone?" Grantaire asks. "You don't carry your battle plans on your person at all times? This does not feel like truth in advertising, Enjolras."

"People borrow my phone," Enjolras points out sensibly.

"That would take some explaining," Grantaire agrees. "'Oh, no, Combeferre, this analysis of Grantaire's arousal patterns is entirely innocent!' And Combeferre will not believe a word. Or, wait, did Combeferre help?" Grantaire vaguely recalls Combeferre asking him some pointed questions once. Something about.... he forgets. He was otherwise distracted. (It was August. Enjolras's shirt was off and he was sweating. Grantaire had actually walked into furniture.)

"Everyone helped," Enjolras says, then, like he realizes how terrible that sounds, adds quickly, "not like that. I pumped them for information gently. But Combeferre and Courfeyrac, um--"

"Helped a lot," Grantaire suggests.

"Were vital sources of information," Enjolras finishes.

"I'm translating that as Courfeyrac tattled about all the times we swapped stories," Grantaire says. "Please correct me if I'm wrong."

Enjolras conspicuously does not correct him.

"But anyway, my point is," Grantaire says, "and I think I have a point? Oh, right. You prepared and shit. You have lists and plans, and I don't. So I'm, yeah, I'm perfectly happy to let you drive, Enjolras, uh, sorry, hold the reins? I don't know, imagine I'd come up with a better metaphor there. You're the leader; lead on."

"My lists can be wrong," Enjolras says. "I'm not a mind reader and I'm not some kind of magic kink-seer either. I put together ideas of what I thought you might like. I'm sure I was wrong about some things, that's just the nature of the beast. And I'm sure I missed things."

"See, now I want to see these fabled lists," Grantaire says. "Forbidden fruit, whatever. It's a shame you have such a sense of privacy and don't have this on your phone. Did you rank things? Was it like, maybe Grantaire likes kissing my boots, but he will totally love sucking my cock? Because, I hate to tell you, no, wait, I don't, I love to tell you, I think sucking your cock is my new favorite thing in the world. Since you're not going to be fucking me until our fourth date, after all. Maybe after that, I'll change my mind. Oh, and I'll be happy to kiss your boots, too. You get that?"

"What I'm getting," Enjolras says, "is that the first things that come to your mind have to do with your mouth, and that I was already very sure you have an oral fixation--"

"Yes, I do," Grantaire says seriously.

"And I intend to take full advantage of that," Enjolras says. He looks calculating, then dips his index finger in a pool of maple syrup on his plate and offers it to Grantaire. Grantaire licks his finger clean with more tongue than strictly necessary and then starts sucking. "Like so," Enjolras whispers.

Grantaire nips at his knuckle gently and pulls back. "Yummy."

Enjolras blinks a couple times and shifts in his chair. Grantaire wonders what he'd see if he went to the floor right now under the table. How much is Enjolras getting off on this? "But like I said," Enjolras says. "I'm not giving orders, I'm making suggestions. You can say no to anything, you don't need to justify anything if you don't want to. You don't need to give any explanations if you don't want to. It's about what you want, not what I think you want."

"So, can I call you Master?" Grantaire asks. Enjolras goes pale and Grantaire says quickly, "or not! Not is good, too!"

Enjolras takes a quick swallow of coffee. "Definitely not. Really not. I really don't want to eroticize-- not that your kink is bad, but the human institutions that are being invoked and mimicked--"

"My god," Grantaire says wonderingly. "You think it's hot. You think it's hot and you're pissed at yourself. Because, c'mon, all I need is you to say is you don't want me to. You're the one who needs an essay on why you are not allowing yourself to indulge in some harmless fun."

"It's not harmless, it's disrespectful--"

"Kink-shaming," Grantaire sings out.

"I am not," Enjolras says.

"You are. And you're kink-shaming _yourself_ , which is just sad. You should embrace your sexuality, not hide it under a bushel." He thinks that makes sense. "No one thinks you endorse slavery if you let me call you Master. Not even you can make that case."

"It doesn't matter," Enjolras says, not trying to make that case, "because I don't want you calling me that. If you really want to get off on inequality, you can call me sir, I'll take that--"

"And you'll love it," Grantaire notes. "And you're going to be calling me a good boy. Sir. Because I am a good boy."

"Yes, you are," Enjolras says, and reaches out to stroke Grantaire's face. Grantaire leans into his palm. "A very good boy." Grantaire turns his head and kisses Enjolras's hand. "You should realize you're tempting me to hand feed you."

Grantaire responds by taking Enjolras's thumb into his mouth and starting to suck.

Enjolras makes a strangled sound and then he pulls his hand away (no!), but replaces it with his mouth (yes!). Grantaire opens his eyes in time to see Enjolras sit back down again, completely flustered.

"I think hand feeing is a great idea," Grantaire says unnecessarily.

"That's taken under advisement," Enjolras says. He stands up again quickly and gets more coffee. Grantaire is counting that as a win. "I-- you should know," Enjolras isn't even looking at him. This is totally a win. "There's--"

"You should fuck me over this table," Grantaire says. "When you get around to fucking me. When's that going to be again?"

" _Later_ ," Enjolras says. The poor coffee machine. It does not deserve what Grantaire is making Enjolras do to it. This is more like it. This is much more satisfying. "We need to talk about limits. Before I-- we do anything, before anyone gets fucked over any tables. You need to tell me what I can't do. And I need to tell you what I won't do. And--"

"You might actually break that," Grantaire says, in awe. "Why don't you sit down and I'll finish that?"

Enjolras glares at him and succeeds in making more coffee. Then he sits down. And looks at Grantaire. And says, "I'm not doing anything to you while you're drunk. Your turn."

"Can't I consent in advance?" Grantaire asks. "Can't I just say, Enjolras, I am totally always up for you fucking me, and leave it at that?"

"No," Enjolras says.

"But I am," Grantaire says. "I'm serious. Anything, I am totally open to anything."

"Really?" Enjolras asks, raising an eyebrow. "Anything?"

Grantaire nods. "Anything."

Enjolras looks him in the eye and brings his mug to his lips without looking away. He says, flatly, "you worthless piece of shit," and then takes a long, measured sip. "Everything about you repulses me. I have never loathed anything more than I do your friendless worthless carcass. Get out of my sight."

Grantaire looks away first. "Fuck you," he mutters. "Okay, fine. You have a point."

Enjolras puts the mug down gently. "As I said. You have limits. I respect them and I need to know what they are."

"I don't know what they are," Grantaire says. "I'm serious. I mean, the big ones, yes, you're right, if you could not call me worthless and tell me I'm not welcome, I would appreciate it, I do not need anything tap-dancing on my depression, unless, well, unless I ask you to, which I might? But maybe not, I don't know. So I guess, just don't call me stupid or worthless. Those kinds of things. I mean, call me a slut all you want, I'm so sex-positive I go to sex-infinity, but worthless slut, uh. Not that. Um. Unless I want you to. Maybe. I mean, in the heat, I'll probably love it, you could probably make me come from it. But afterwards. Um. Yeah, in those cases, I'll take your inevitable disclaimers. I'll want your inevitable disclaimers. But you can say it in the heat. If you want."

"Okay," Enjolras says.

"But limits?" Grantaire rambles onwards, ever onwards, "I don't know, Enjolras. I guess I'll have to see your lists? We could start from those? I don't know. I'm even finding the idea of you telling me I'm only good for taking your cock, finding that really hot, so don't, uh, don't take verbal humiliation off of any lists, if it were even on them to begin with, because I guess my answer is, it depends? If that's a good answer. No, wait, that's a terrible answer. But I think it does, Enjolras. Things are different depending on the setting. In bed with you, I could fly. I could do anything. And I want to try. Can you just veto stuff and if you aren't sure, you run it by me first?"

Enjolras nods. "All right. But you need to tell me when to stop, okay? Call a time out if I'm going too fast or going places you don't want me to."

"Okay," Grantaire agrees. "But don't, don't take things off of a list just because you're worried or second-guessing yourself now, okay? We can file anything under 'because it's hot', it doesn't need a reason. Because some things are just hot. Don't take things off of any lists because you're suddenly deciding I'm made of glass and will break if you breathe on me wrong. Because I can totally tell the difference between something said for the porn and something you actually mean. You don't need to be some kind of patronizing arrogant asshole. I'm a big boy with awesome alliterative agency. I can take some dirty talk."

Enjolras smiles faintly. "Good. So when I bite you and tell you that you're mine, you will be aware that I mean that with the utmost respect and not that I think of you as a possession or that I own you."

Grantaire swallows hard. "As I said. Hot. Do not underestimate how hot you are when you're metaphorically peeing on me. Or, you know, not metaphorically."

"Not on the table," Enjolras says.

"Shame," Grantaire says. "Because that, too, would be hot. Unless you mean 'not on the table' as literally not on the table, in which case, I agree. There will be no peeing on the table. Fucking, yes, peeing, no. Because this is a kitchen and I have standards. Occasionally. When I can remember to. Okay, never, but, anyway, hygiene. The FDA does not approve."

"I mean I'm not going to pee on you," Enjolras says. "I'm willing to negotiate you peeing on me."

Grantaire stares at him.

"I wasn't kidding," Enjolras says. He seems nervous. "Grantaire?"

Grantaire wets his lips. "I'm sorry, Enjolras, my brain just broke. Can you say that again?"

"I'm willing to negotiate you peeing on me," Enjolras repeats. "Grantaire..."

"Yes," Grantaire says. "Just, yes, all of that, some time, some day, some when, Enjolras. Yes, I will pee on you. Please hold my cock while I do it, metaphorically, non-metaphorically, it doesn't matter, I don't care, but please. If you want me to do that, I really want to do that for you." He grins. "You really want to control everything that comes out of my cock, don't you? Sexy."

Enjolras is blushing, it's fantastic. "That's not exactly how I would put it."

"I would," Grantaire says. "And this is not a problem _at all_. Believe me."

Enjolras leans in. "You like being controlled," he says. Grantaire nods eagerly. "I am going to push that so far, so hard, you won't know what hit you."

"You'll have hit me," Grantaire supplies helpfully.

"Don't think I've forgotten that you want to be spanked," Enjolras says. "So, yes, I'll have hit you. I'll have made you cry for me, made you beg, made you come from nothing but my hand. And you know what you're going to do next? You're going to get down on your knees and thank me. For taking you in hand, for hurting you so nicely, and you'll kiss my fingers, kiss my palm, suck my fingers into your mouth, fellate them, and then you're going to beg for my cock. And you want to know what will happen next?"

Grantaire nods.

"I won't let you," Enjolras says. "Because it's not about you, is it? It's about me. It's about what I want, and what I want, Grantaire, what I want is to paint your pretty face. I want to make you watch, make you ache for me, make you beg. But I won't give in, because it's not what I want. I want to see you staring up at me, your mouth open and red, and you not able to kneel quietly because your ass hurts so much. I want to look down at what I've done to you, listen to you beg me to do more, and then come all over your pretty face and your pretty, pretty hair. I want to watch you lick it up, make you use your hands. And you're going to thank me. You might, if I'm feeling in the mood, be permitted to kiss my boots."

Grantaire licks his lips. "W-which boots?"

Enjolras stares at him. "That's your question? Which boots? I don't fucking know, Grantaire. I'll go buy boots. You can pick them out. Find ones suitably erotic, it's your kink. You can pick them out and then bring them to me and jerk off on them while I watch, would you like that? And then you can fucking lick it up and present them to me, put them on, lace them up. And then kiss them again and work your way up. I'll want your mouth on my cock after that, after watching you be so good for me, I'll make you suck me, and then I'll bend you over and fuck you, with the boots still on. You'll like that, I'll bet, won't you. You'll be so desperate for me and I'll take my time, make you feel it. Make you take it. Make you take everything I give to you, everything I do to you, and make you like it. Make you beg me for it. And you'll beg. You'll beg until you forget your name and all you remember is mine."

"Enjolras," Grantaire whispers.

Enjolras smiles approvingly. "Good boy. And once I'm done, once I've fucked you open, once I've come inside you, I'm going to fuck you with my fingers, luxuriating in how wanton you are, your legs spread for me, your thighs trembling around me as I hold you open. And then I'll plug you, buy the biggest plug I can find and shove it up your ass, and make you sleep in it, make you walk around with it. And I'll never get enough, knowing that you're always ready for me, knowing that you can't breathe without thinking of me, knowing that your body is for me to play with, that if I want to fuck you, I'll fuck you, and if I want you to be desperate for me, you'll be kept on edge all day, because I want you to be, because there's nothing I like more than reminding you of everything I do to you and everything you do because of me."

Grantaire's mouth is dry and he has no idea what he's doing, but he goes down to his knees anyway. Enjolras comes around to his side of the table and Grantaire presses his forehead against Enjolras's thigh. Enjolras reaches down and strokes Grantaire's hair.

"Is that a yes?" Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods desperately. "Please," he says, and Enjolras tilts his head up.

"Good boy," he says. He gives Grantaire's hair one last tussle, then moves away. "You need to finish your breakfast."

An hour later, Grantaire takes a picture of them in the kitchen, Enjolras's arms around him, and texts it to their friends along with _any questions?_

Courfeyrac texts back almost instantaneously: _about damn time._


End file.
